The Clod and the Pebble
by Annatari
Summary: EL The war forced strongwilled Lothiriel to take control of Dol Amroth, a position she must now relinquish. Now intelligent and bored, the most sensible thing to do seems to be to get married. If only anyone could measure up to her exacting standards!


Lothiriel stirred as the morning light pricked her consciousness. The large windows that covered one side of her bedchamber had been thrown open, and the curtains billowed inwards. With them, the scent of the ocean was drawn into the room. The room overlooked the bay, the curve of the cliffs rising to the right. This morning the soft yellow sand on the beach caught the sun making it gleam, and the sea was covered in little boats, their coloured sails bobbing under a gentle breeze. Tossing back the covers, the Princess of Dol Amroth crossed the room to fully admire the view. Despite spending her life on the coast, the sight of the sea on a glorious day such as this one still lifted her soul.

If however, she was honest with herself, Lothiriel knew it was not simply the weather that had lightened her spirits. Envoys received from her father yesterday had contained wonderful news. The threat from the East had been vanquished, and peace was breaking out across the land. The note was brief, penned she was sure when her father was exhausted, but crucially it wrote of the survival of all three of her brothers. Lothiriel was certain her father would have included any other important news, and in its absence she had had her first peaceful nights sleep since the contingent of the Swan Nights had left the city.

Yesterday evening the news had spread like wildfire through the city. While a collective sigh of relief had been issued by the residents with regard to their own safety, everyone was too aware that casualty lists had yet to arrive to celebrate proper. An eccentric quirk of rulers past had lead to the creation of two years compulsory military service for males aged twenty. While the women of Dol Amroth supported the scheme for its maturing qualities and the aesthetic benefits of fit young men in uniforms, it did mean that in times of conflict almost the entire male population abandoned the city to fight. The royal family was no exception to this, leaving their younger sister to 'keep an eye on things' in their absence. Unfortunately the volume of work required to keep things ticking over was substantial, and while the women of Dol Amroth toiled tirelessly to fill the vacuum left by their men folk their young princess did the same.

'It had been difficult,' Lothiriel reflected, as she basked her face in the sunlight, 'but brilliant, in an odd sort of way'. She giggled, realising how much she would miss the power that had been entrusted to her. 'Honestly,' she berated herself, 'I'm almost as bad as Uncle Denethor when we tease him about the King of Gondor returning!' The laughter died on her lips as her thoughts moved rapidly from her uncle to his son. A lump in her throat formed as her cousin came to mind, and her feelings of lightness evaporated. While the agreement between the two of them had been unofficial, the awful hollow emptiness when she thought of life without him clearly proved marriage between the two of them was only a matter of time. Her and Boromir had just…worked together. He had been strong and decisive with fiery ambition. Perhaps due to a lenient childhood and continually getting her own way, Lothiriel found herself desiring a husband more powerful than herself, someone who might be able to match her wilfulness and quick wit. Their marriage would have been impressive indeed.

As it was, without any formal agreement between them, Lothiriel could only mourn his passing as a cousin. And besides, she thought, recovering herself, there was still too much to do. She had no time to wallow.

The days progressed, slowly. No news came from Minas Tirith. Whether due to rejoicing or commiseration the citizens of Dol Amroth knew not, and emotions ran sky high in the anticipation of information. It was still possible to win and loose everything.

Four days after her father's envoy, Lothiriel was in conference over farming and food supplies. Seated around the long polished table, the strains had begun to show.

"The projection harvest figures are just projections, your Highness" urged Lady Cora, "and until we have some idea of the population come harvest we'll have no idea if we're massively under catering." Lady Cora's family owned extensive farmland, and Lothiriel had found her expertise vital. Yet the figures didn't seem to add up-

"I don't understand, Cora" Lothiriel sighed, rummaging through papers, "In previous years there's always been excess of produce. I know that we're lower on manpower but the precedent-" She was cut off sharply by a new speaker.

"It's not manpower now that's the problem. It may well be the problem come harvest- when the window to actually gather in the crops is short. The food could simply rot in the fields or be taken by the frosts before it can be harvested." This ray of sunshine came from Lady Delerith, whose solid practicality could easily be taken for rudeness. Married to the Prince's steward, Delerith was secure enough of her position to speak candidly-

"Princess Lothiriel, in all honesty we can do nothing but speculate until we have some semblance of casualty figures." There was a buzz of mutual agreement around the council table. Lady Cora spoke again,

"We've planted all we can. It is something of a waiting game now, your Highness." Lothiriel paused in thought, scrutinising the parchment in front of her.

"We might be better to try and replenish our stocks of dried fish. It can be transported easily and stored for long periods." Said the Princess, "Who knows where we may need to send aid to."

"Yes," pressed Delerith, "but there is a small matter of the actually fishing. The reason dried stocks have gotten so low is because there's no-one to catch replacements." The council puzzled together for a few moment, before the youngest member, Pasia spoke.

"I can only speak from my own experience," she began rather nervously, as the eyes of the council matriarch swivelled their focus onto her, "but until I was presented at court I was a rather proficient sailor. I meant, I've never fished myself, but the theory can be taught surely. And, and" she stuttered for a moment, "And I've spoken to some of the fishwives down by the harbour these past months. Maybe I think, if someone could possibly sail the boats, they'd know how to do the catching. It's just an idea, but…" She tapered off.

"Just an idea, admittedly," Lothiriel smiled, "but a sound one certainly. I've handled boats before. I mean, I can hardly be the only one who's snuck out in more recent years to whip around the bay on a gorgeous morning like today, can I?" Her grin was returned by many of the other council members.

"Certainly," said Delerith, "but not all of us are blessed with your youth. I feel that at my stage in life my days of ducking booms are over." The greying council members gave a sympathetic chuckle. "But I'm certain I can manage to press gang plenty of young ladies into the endeavour- and without the Corsair threat they can sail knowing their virtue is likely to remain intact."

"Thank you." Sighed a somewhat relieved Lothiriel. "If it's alright I'll leave you and Pasia to organise that for the most part." Nods of agreement on their part sealed the topic, and the meeting was drawn to a close for the day. Lothiriel found her council to be invaluable over the past months, choosing the brightest and most sensible female minds to advise her and organise such decisions that were made. She knew for most of these women, herself included, it was the most freedom and responsibility they had ever encountered. In all honestly, Lothiriel was awaiting the return of the male population with some trepidation. She was honestly unsure how the empowered female populous of the city would act upon a return to the old order.

A more nagging thought however was in regard to the duration of her stay there. She knew too well that after wars came peace conferences, and with conferences came treaties. Treaties too easily sealed with matrimony between powerfully aligned females and foreign leaders. Visions of Haradic deserts had flickered through her thoughts several times, or being married into the northern populations to one of the Dunedain such as the one her father had met years before she was born.

Unfortunately, she thought to herself, in times of a lack of news a vivid imagination really was your worst enemy. The only antidote really was work, and at least, she laughed as she strode to tend to the healing garden, there was plenty of that to be had.


End file.
